


Confessions, Reasons and a Shrimp (or two)

by Crollalanza



Series: The Captain and his Vice [21]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugawara Koushi – age sixteen – with more than the biggest crush in the world on the boy he’s currently watching across the room. Not just a crush on someone he admires, but someone who if he looks across right now will set Suga burning. </p><p>And he’s in deep fucking shit because Sawamura Daichi is his best friend, study partner, teammate...</p><p>And straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions, Reasons and a Shrimp (or two)

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Sugawara Koushi's birthday. It wasn't what I was originally going to write, which is why it's late (and it spiralled because that's what happens to me) but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> This story contains pretty hefty spoilers for another fic of mine called 'The Sunshine of Life'. You don't need to read that to understand this, but you might like it :D.
> 
> Sugawara Koushi has been my favourite in Haikyuu since I started the manga last year. He is still my favourite.

It’s at his sixteenth birthday party when he realises that what he’s felt for his friend probably _isn’t_ just a crush. Before then he’d researched on the net, read a ton of advice columns and decided it was just a phase, and understandable because _he_ is someone to admire, and plenty of people want to hang around with him.

But he’s getting ready for his party, showering, and his thoughts turn to what’s going to happen and whether anyone will actually turn up,(because at times the others don’t get his sense of humour and think he’s a little odd). And it’s then he realises he doesn’t care who bails, as long as _he’s_ there.

And he’s in deep fucking shit because Sawamura Daichi is his _best_ friend, study partner, teammate. And straight.

He thinks. Well, he’s pretty sure he is because Daichi talks about girls sometimes and his eyes flicker occasionally when one walks past. The same way Suga thinks his eyes light up when Daichi appears.

Sugawara Koushi – age sixteen – with more than the biggest crush in the world on the boy he’s currently watching across the room. Not just a crush on someone he admires, but someone who if he looks across right now will set Suga burning. He watches Daichi chat to a girl, focuses on his mouth, his lips and how deep red they are and there’s a flip in his stomach when he thinks about those lips on his skin.

“Happy Birthday, Sugawara-kun,” Michimiya says, breezing up to him. She dumps an envelope on his lap, a large one, and smiles widely at him. “Someone’s popular.”

“Huh?” He’s surprised because she seems to be handing over more birthday cards, and obviously, he’s going to get them on his birthday because no one would turn up empty handed.

All the envelopes are pink or lilac or white and decorated with flowers and hearts and...

 _Confessions_ , he realises and blushes shades darker than the first envelope he pulls out.

“Not now!” Michimiya says. “They’re for you to look through later when we’re all gone. That way no one gets embarrassed.”

“Except me now,” he replies drily.

 

Daichi and Asahi stay behind after the party. They’re sleeping over, and the three of them watch a movie, sharing what’s left of the food, before settling down in Suga’s room, where in all likelihood the conversation will soon turn to volleyball.

For some reason that doesn’t happen. Instead, Daichi picks up the envelope and empties it over Suga’s lap.

“Micchan told me you’ve got to read them all,” he says in explanation, then grins at Asahi. “We’ll help you, won’t we?”

“Uh ...”Asahi blinks rapidly and his hand strays to his hair, tugging at the longer strands hanging by the side of his face. “Th-they’re private.”

“I’m joking, goofball!” Daichi laughs, then crouches next to Suga, his hand lightly touching his shoulder. “Give us the chance to veto, though, yeah?”

“What?  Oh ... um ... no I don’t think I’m going to ... uh ...” He’s flustered, so very flustered and can feel himself sweating, his scalp hot, not just because he needs to think of an excuse as to why he’s not going to date any of these girls, but also because the warmth of Daichi’s palm, and his very nearness is disrupting his equilibrium, even with Asahi close by.

He shrugs Daichi’s hand off (it’s like a wrench and his shoulder feels abnormally cold after) and swallows away the dry constricted rasp in his throat. And just as his brain cobbles together some hash of an excuse as to why he wouldn’t date any of them, something hits his face.

“What’s this?” he asks, staring at a badly wrapped gift now lying on top of the pink and lilac letters.

“Uh... what does it look like? It’s your birthday so I bought you a present.”

“Didn’t you already get me something?” Suga says, thinking back to the volleyball shoes and new kitbag that Daichi had bought with Asahi, Shimizu and Michimiya. 

“Little something extra,” Daichi murmurs. “And don’t say ‘you shouldn’t have’.”

Gazing up at Daichi, who’s standing over him, silhouetted against the lamplight like a large imposing crow, he snorts. “One thing you should know about me, Daichi-kun, is that I adore presents.”

Except when he starts to open it, he’s not sure he will adore it at all because Daichi can’t keep a straight face, and Asahi’s anxiety light is flaring in his eyes.

“It’s a t-shirt,” he says. “Pale blue ... yeah ... that’s cool ... uh ...” He’s puzzled because he can’t see why Daichi’s stuffing his fist in his mouth and Asahi’s edged away, until ... “There’s a prawn on the front. Uh ... why?”

“Not a prawn, Koushi.” Daichi’s lit from inside with devilry, and bends down, pulling Suga up by his arm, then propelling him forwards to stare out of the window. “What do you see?”

“Not a lot. It’s dark.”

“But you can see _us_ , right?” Daichi asks, and gestures to Asahi to stand up, too.

Suga stares at the three of them, himself in the middle, flanked by his two best friends. “I can see us, yeah. Is there a point to this?”

“Uh-huh,” Daichi continues, and the teasing note re-enters his tone. “It’s a s _hrimp_ , Koushi, not a prawn.”

“What the hell!” He narrows his eyes at the window, seeing the truth, that in the two months since he first met the pair of them, his friends have grown and he hasn’t. More specifically, Daichi has grown and is now taller.

“You gits!”

“Git in the singular,” Daichi replies loftily. “Asahi told me not to, but ... uh...” He grins again, and opens up his arms, waiting for whatever blow Suga’s going to throw at him. “Bet you’re regretting telling everyone I was the Libero, aren’t you, Koushrimp?”

“You ... UGH!”  He crumples the wrapping paper into a ball and chucks that at Daichi’s head, but he’s smiling because, despite the fact it’s a joke, that Daichi doesn’t mean it to be a present he’ll treasure, that he’ll expect trouble from Suga in the days to come (which will happen, Suga swears to himself) it’s a personal gift, and Daichi must have put some thought  into it.

***

His seventeenth birthday and there’s no time off from practise. Coach Ukai has them running laps, shouting at them all because fitness levels are ‘a disgrace!’  He runs with them, surprisingly strong for a man of his age, and Suga knows he’s longing to swear, to curse and rage because that’s the way he’ll toughen this team into shape.

“You want to go to Nationals!” he exhorts. “Then start training. Start running!  Think like Champions, cause that’s the only way you’ll get there. Now, run another lap, and I want to see you chucking up your guts when you’re done.”

No one is sick. Three of the seven first years look close to collapse, and Suga thinks it won’t be much longer before he sinks to the grass too, but then a hand touches his back – light but true – and a low voice whispers, “Thirty more minutes, Sug, and then we can die.”

“D’you think if I tell him it’s my birthday, he’ll let me off early?”

“Doubt it. He’ll say that as you’re older, you can run another lap.”

“Damn!” He crouches over, his hands on his knees and pants out his last few breaths.

Pretending to do up his shoelace, Daichi fires another illicit whisper at him. “Still on for the park, or are you shattered?”

“’M fine.” He blows at the strands of hair flopping over his eyes, and without turning his head, treats himself to a surreptitious side-glance at Daichi’s thighs, biting his bottom lip to quell the urge to reach out with his hand and ... touch.

Sometimes he wonders how he gets through his days staying friends with Daichi. They do most things together, not just volleyball and school, but taking in a movie, or studying. If it weren’t for the fact that recently his desires had taken on the qualities of a burning thirst, rather than the silent pining of last year, Suga could honestly say that the times he spends with Daichi are his happiest moments. They click, sometimes sharing thoughts in a way others find odd because ... it isn’t as if they’re _that_ alike.  Daichi’s the bullet train, focused and strong-minded, knowing his destination, whereas Suga feels as if he’s on a rollercoaster of ridiculously off the track highs, swooping down to crippling lows of insecurity.  

He’s decided on the park this year, rather than a party at home, telling people it’s less hassle for his mum. In reality, he thinks it’ll be easier for him because his parents won’t demand to see an invitation list, and his mum won’t suggest which girls he should invite. His original plan was just to invite the volleyball crowd, and a few others from his class, but then Daichi got it into his head that as it was in the park, anyone could come along, and he’d already mentioned it to Michimiya before Suga could stop him.

So there are more girls than he would have invited, some he barely knows, but they smile at him, then sit on the grass and giggle with each other whilst the boys stand with hands in pockets attempting to look cool.

“You know what this is, don’t you, Sugawara?” Michimiya says, and hands over a brown envelope.

“Yeah, and I’m not allowed to open them here, is that right?”

“You’re learning,” she chirps, and leaning forward she pretends to brush something off his shoulder and mutters, “One of the girls on my team, the Setter, has a huge crush on you. Let her down gently, will you?”

“On me?”

“Oh yes. It’s not just Sawamura that’s breaking hearts.”

“Uh ...” He lifts his eyes momentarily from Michimiya’s face, and catches Daichi looking at him. He’s drinking a can of coke (Ukai would be angry at that) and listening to a girl – Michimiya’s Setter - who’s chattering away, but there’s something odd about Daichi’s expression. He looks ... not  uncomfortable, exactly, but there’s definitely an air of ‘I don’t want to be here’ about him.

“Ooops, speak of the devil.” Michimiya grimaces, then with a sigh, she pats Suga on the arm. “Just, um, be nice, okay?”

“More confessions, huh?” Daichi says, when he’s wandered over. “Got your eye on anyone?”

“As if Ukai’s going to let me have a girlfriend,” Suga replies, pleased when Daichi joins in the laughter.

It’s later, when the picnic’s being packed away that Daichi pulls him to one side. Ostensibly, they’re scouting around for empty cans and bottles, piling both into a rubbish sack to be recycled later. Anyone could have done this, so Daichi tugging on his sleeve makes Suga wonder (hope, even) that something else is going on.

And he’s right ... in a way. He’s right in the fact that it really has nothing to do with recycling and clearing up, and there’s a definite purpose to Daichi’s actions.

“Sug,” he says, after first checking over his shoulder. “Um, I’ve got something to ask you.”

“Go on,” Suga replies slowly. And he’s trying to sound casual, he’s trying not to smile and he’s willing his heart to stop thumping so loud, and his stomach to quit leaping up and down. But it’s hard, so fricking hard when Daichi’s hand is gripping his shoulder and he’s staring right into his eyes.

“Ukai wants me to be the next Captain,” Daichi says. “I want you as my Vice.”

***

It’s not how everyone would choose to spend their eighteenth birthday, playing a practise game after school, instead of having a party, but Suga doesn’t care. He’s part of a team, not a starting player, but one he’s been told repeatedly is valuable to Karasuno. And it may still ache at him, he may yearn to be on the court when the game starts, when it’s at its conclusion, or when setting the Ace up for the spike that will tear through any block, but he takes heart that the team – his team – are playing out of their skins.

(And it helps that the Captain (his Captain) whispers more than team plans and tactics to him now.)

The loss against Datekou, which threatened to break more than a mop, instead bound them closer. And Suga, once so aware of Daichi’s every move, had been left slain at their first kiss. Comfort, possibly. Hurt, definitely. But there’d also been a rightness to it that Suga had only dreamt of, and Daichi had been shocked by. But not shocked enough to stop.

They win the game quite comfortably, travel back on the coach and fit in a little study in the changing rooms. Suga sits with Noya, and marvels at how a boy so distracted (okay -lazy) in class can be so focused on court, but he guesses it’s about motivation and finding that reason.

Ten days before, he’d been called into the Guidance Counsellor’s office and grilled. His options laid bare in front of him. And there’d been no option really because ...

_‘Sugawara-kun, you are not a starting player. There is no benefit, no merit in continuing club activities. It is better for you to leave now and concentrate on your future.’_

He’d closed his eyes and tried to imagine a school life, or the _rest_ of his life without volleyball, because the gods knew he ached to play and it was killing him to be stuck on the sidelines. To not be setting for his Ace, not playing with Daichi.  So, maybe he should leave. Maybe he should knuckle down, get his grades, and apply to the college he sorely wants to attend. But ... all he could see was the team and the Captain – his Captain.

“Oya, birthday boy!” Daichi shouts from across the room, where he’s instructing Tanaka in some basic maths formula.

“Mmm?”

“Pork buns on you tonight, are they?”

“Guess so.”

So they go to Sakanoshita, and as it turns out the Coach treats them all, and his mom brings out a cake, ruffling Suga’s hair and muttering that she likes him because ‘you’re one of the quiet ones’.

“She doesn’t know you very well, does she?” Daichi whispers, and squeezes his knee under the table.

The door to the store opens. Suga doesn’t bother looking up, but sips his hot chocolate and runs his foot up Daichi’s calf while he’s having a conversation (or trying) with the coach about Tokyo and the strategy for taking on Nekoma. Daichi tries so hard to concentrate, nodding his head, murmuring ‘uh-huh’ in _nearly_ the right places, but Suga’s foot has now slipped under his thigh, his toes wriggling.

“Special delivery for Sugawara Koushi!”

“What?” he yelps, nearly falling off his chair as the new customer stands in front of him.

She has a smile on her face, one he’s not seen recently since she made the decision to quit while they stayed on. It’s not a party, no one’s been invited to anything, it’s  a casual meet up, but it seems right that she’s here as she’s attended the last two parties.

“Micchan, come and sit down.”

“Ah, I would,” she replies, and smiles her very familiar wide smile at him. “But I can’t stop.”

She brings out an envelope from her rucksack. It’s the same sort of large brown envelope that she’s brought for the past two years, but it’s less bulky now. He’s a third year, and two years of letting girls down in the most gentle of ways have made them wary of confessing. He’d rather Michimiya left without emptying her pink and lilac envelopes on his lap, but she looks determined as if nothing will stop her.

There’s more than one letter in there, but only one stands out because it’s white and undecorated. The name on the front is printed not written, and there’s no indication at all who it’s from.  It looks like a bill, but Suga knows. He knows because Daichi is deliberately not looking his way, but has returned the pressure on Suga’s ankle.

And some kind of devilry takes hold because although he knows the etiquette is that he should open these alone, he can’t quite resist, especially when Daichi stops moving his foot, his eyebrows raised.

He runs his nail along the edge of the envelope, smirking as Tanaka and Noya gaze at him in admiration, and then he rips across the fold eager to produce the confession.

Daichi coughs. There’s a definite head movement, and small shake of the head, and a widening of the eyes. _‘Don’t do this, Sug!’_ he warns with a frown and a plea.

Although he wants to see just what the confession says, he knows he can’t – yet. Two years before he’d made the connection between his feelings, his being, and the boy sitting opposite. And as much as he wants to shout out to the world what they are to each other, there’s still more that needs to be said, and paths to pave.

“Later, I think,” he says with a wink at Noya.

Daichi’s shoulders relax. It’s the only sign he gives that there was ever any tension in the air because he’s good at hiding.

“What time’s your mom expecting us?” he says levelly.

“Uh ... soon,” Suga replies and gets to his feet. “Shame you can’t make it this year, Asahi.”

With a sigh and a splaying of hands on the table, Asahi spills out another apology, but with exams looming, his parents want him to study and he wants to go to Tokyo very badly, so is leaving nothing to chance. And though Suga is more than looking forward to being alone with Daichi overnight, it is with genuine regret that he claps his hand on Asahi’s shoulder and wishes him goodbye.

It’s not yet dark, but he and Daichi walk close occasionally letting their fingers touch, and for some reason the evening feels different. It’s not that it’s his birthday, or that he’s now eighteen, although that might have something to do with it, but Daichi is giving him side-glances, and there’s a hesitant smile flitting on his lips. He’s never unsure, always true, and this hesitation is uncharacteristic. Except that first time they kissed.

“Three months,” Daichi mutters.

“Since what?” Suga asks, although he knows full well.

“Since we kissed.”

“A little less than that.”

“Ten weeks and three days,” Daichi corrects, his fingers suddenly gripping tight. “I wrote that confession ten days ago.”

_Ten days? Oh ..._

“After we lost,” Suga murmurs, and his fingers squeeze back. “Are you saying you don’t want me to read it? Did you post it into Micchan’s locker by mistake?”

Daichi shakes his head, very slowly and with deliberation. When Suga looks across at him, he can see the sun’s last desperate rays as it makes its way downwards, painting pinks and oranges on his cheeks. As if he were blushing.

“I posted it in her locker today,” Daichi replies, and reaches across to touch Suga’s hair. “I just wanted you to know that I realised something when we sat in that restaurant.”

“Oh.”

Blinking rapidly, unsure what to say because Daichi is looking at him with such intensity, it’s almost scary, Suga fumbles in his pocket for the letter. He pulls it out, his hands shaking, opens the folded piece of paper and stares.

Three words. Not a mound of purple prose, or a thesaurus worth of poetry, but three simple words.

He gasps.

Because this was not what he expected. (Daichi has, on occasions, an eloquent turn of phrase that makes even Suga blush, especially in written form, and he’d guessed that was what the note was going to be – a declaration of what he wants to do tonight.)

 “As a friend?” he whispers, because he needs to check. He has to make sure he’s not reading this wrong.

“That, too, but ... no, it’s more.” He lets go of Suga’s hand and stands before him, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Suga says. “And it’s more than friendship or ... um ...because we ... um ...”

“Yeah,” Daichi laughs. “Our ‘um’ is pretty damn good, too.” Then he straightens his face, and the intense yearning is back in his eyes. “I love you, and us, and the fact that we _are_ us, Suga. I love it when we’re together, even just walking like this, or spending time alone, or with the team, as well as when we ... um ...”

“We are fantastic at the ‘umming’, aren’t we,” Suga whispers and it’s his turn to giggle.

“Yeah...” He grins, the intensity changing to something more akin to naked lust than love. “Your mum will have set up the futon, right, in your room?”

“Mmm, we should make sure it looks as if you slept in it.”

***

 

He knows it’s not that early, but he really had hoped Daichi would let him sleep in on his nineteenth birthday. But as he blearily opens his eyes and stretches, his hand bumps against the body alongside his, and he realises the noises he can hear in the kitchen aren’t Daichi at all.

“Whasser time?” he mumbles.

“Nearly nine,” Daichi replies, momentarily glancing away from the textbook he’s reading and making notes from.

“Do I have to get up for anything?”

“Nope.”

“Can I really spend all day in bed?”

“Yep.”

He turns on his side, and slips his hand onto Daichi’s torso. “Are you going to stay here with me?”

“That depends.” He doesn’t put down his book, instead he makes a note on the pad beside him.

“On what?” Suga’s hand creeps further downwards, his little finger inching towards the prize, and he watches as Daichi pretends he’s concentrating.

“On whether you want any birthday presents.”

He’s hard already, almost before Suga’s started, but he gently pushes his hand away, and slithers out of bed.

“Oy, come back,” Suga orders. “You are my present.”

“In a bit,” Daichi says, and smirks.

He’s naked apart from a chain around his neck, and Suga examines him, taking in the broad shoulders, the muscles in his back, and the definition on his thighs. He can feel his insides squirming and automatically his hand strays to his cock, unsurprised that he’s well on the way to tumescence himself.  He starts to tug, pulling back the sheets, knowing Daichi’s not going to be offended, and might even stop and stare for a while, because watching is something he likes to do.

But not this time. Although he turns around and smiles when he sees what Suga’s up to, he strides back to him, and very deliberately removes his hand. “Let me,” he mutters. “And ... uh ... I have this.”

He hands over a small plastic bottle containing an amber liquid. Flipping open the lid, Suga takes in the scent of citrus and spice. “Massage oil,” he says, and with no more words, he wriggles into the centre of the bed and waits.

Daichi begins, firm strokes, first on Suga’s chest, sweeping across to his arms, intense concentration as his fingers smooth over his biceps and down to each hand. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at Suga, his actions slow, with intent. He trickles more oil directly on Suga’s skin, flicking his left nipple with his thumb, and then smiles, just a little as the first small sound escapes Suga’s lips.

Of the two of them, Suga is the tease, but Daichi has his moments, and this, it appears, is one of those moments, for instead of turning his attention downwards, he begins again on the left arm, tracing circles to his elbow, leaning across, but not letting any part of his body touch Suga other than his hand.

“Daichi-”

“Hush.”

“Dai-”

“Hush.”

His hand advances upwards, the other moves until both converge at Suga’s ribcage. And then he pauses.

“Daichi ...” Suga whispers.

His palms press firmer; they glide down to Suga’s stomach and the concave he makes as he gasps. There’s oil pooling on his abdomen, but Daichi spreads it outwards, working with both his hands until he lays his fingers to rest on Suga’s hips.

“I bet ...” he murmurs as he wets his lips.

“Bet what?” Suga asks and groans because Daichi’s fingers have reached his waist.

Daichi smirks. “I bet I can make you come without touching your cock.”

“Like to see you try,” Suga replies, because he would, he’d _really_ like Daichi to try.

“Bring it on.”

There’s a mirror propped against the wall. It’s not in its usual place, and as he squints at it, Suga can tell Daichi’s moved it for this express purpose. He can’t see everything, not his face, or chest, but he can see from his abs down to his thighs. He can watch Daichi’s hands as they move to his legs, and he can see the way his skin glistens and his thighs quiver in anticipation.

His palms are warm, his fingers gliding as he pushes into the firm yet soft flesh of Suga’s legs, wriggling his fingers underneath to grasp his buttocks.

“Turn over,” he instructs.

“Nooo, I’m comfortable. Touch me a little ... please.”

“That’s not the game,” Daichi whispers. But he doesn’t make Suga move and drags his hand back up to his waist, still carefully avoiding his cock.  “I suppose I could ...” He shakes his head. “Noooo, I won’t.”

Returning to Suga’s legs, he shuffles down the bed, so far down that he disappears from the mirror, and Suga’s left staring at a truncated version of himself, fully erect, and aching with need. And then he spots the dark fingertips, skirting up past his knees, flirting with the bottom of his thigh, and the massage begins anew.

It’s more serious this time, the teasing not gone, but there’s a directness as Daichi furls his hands around his thigh, pushing up and between, stroking with his thumb as his fingers, oiled and ready begin their own campaign.

“Would you like ...” He fingers him a little, his index finger whorling on his anus, making sure Suga’s ready and relaxed.

Whimpering, Suga raises his knees and lifts his buttocks slightly off the bed. He presses his head into the pillow, feeling first one, then two fingers slip inside him. And Daichi’s moving now. Not just wiggling each finger, but sliding them up and down, perfecting a rhythm as he stares down at Suga.

“You can come inside me,” Suga pants as a cry catches in his craw. “Gah, this is good.”

“Then I’m not stopping,” Daichi says. “I’m going to win my bet, birthday boy.”

He’s arching his back, bucking into Daichi’s fingers, screwing up his face and begging for release, and as he opens his eyes, he watches again his self in the mirror, watches as Daichi shifts position, and sees his cock jerk as without being touched he ejaculates messily over his stomach.

“Oh, fuuuuuck,” he keens, and rolls to the side.

He laughs as floats down from the ceiling, or wherever else he was, and reaches out for, Daichi, determined now to have his body pressed against his. “Come here.”

Daichi sidles behind him, enveloping Suga in his arms as he waits for the shuddering to cease. He kisses his neck, nuzzles his shoulder, and curls himself around Suga. He’s warm and enticing, and ...

As hard as hell, his cock pressing into Suga’s back.

“What would you like?” Suga asks, and starts to turn. “Mouth? Hand? Um...”

“Um is good,” Daichi jokes, “but uh ... how about ... I make good use of that oil and ...”

“Hmm?”

Daichi reaches over him and picks up the bottle, squirting some on his hands, before placing them between Suga’s thighs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and laughs a little when Daichi dribbles more oil onto his arse, and starts to caress.

“Starting up my very own Sugawara Koushi hips, thighs and arse appreciation society,” Daichi replies. He nips his buttock. “It’s an exclusive club, only one member allowed, but he has no complaints because the perks ...”

As he runs his hands to Suga’s hips, turning him over so he’s half kneeling, half lying on the bed, Daichi presses his cock between Suga’s thighs and starts to move.

It’s curious to watch, seeing Daichi’s arse move behind him, catching sight of the tip of his cock as it peeks through his legs, before disappearing from sight. And although he can’t see Daichi’s face, muffled as it is in his neck and hair, he can hear the groans and the guttural sighs as he works himself into a coital frenzy.

Suga adjusts his position, squeezing his thighs gently together, rewarded with a ‘fuck this is good’ and Daichi’s mouth sucking on his neck.

Slippery with cum, oil and sweat, Suga lowers his hand, his thumb catching the head of Daichi’s cock as he thrusts ever more urgent, desperate both to prolong all of this and still climax. But he can’t last now, not when Suga’s fingertips dance around him, stroking and coaxing, rubbing oil across his slit until with a final drive, and a strangled ‘fuck’ Daichi succumbs.

 

It’s only after he’s showered that Suga sees the envelope on the bedside table. Plain white, but with a pink shrimp in the corner. He mock scowls, preparing to punch Daichi, but he’s slipped out of the room, laughing as he joins the others in the kitchen.

Four words this year.

_‘Still love you, Suga.’_

***

 

He hasn’t had a lie-in for quite awhile, hasn’t been allowed that luxury, except at weekends, since leaving university and finding a job. And the weekend lie-ins have been even scarcer since he turned thirty-one.

Today it’s his thirty-fifth birthday, and Suga awakes at the wonderfully late (for these days) hour of seven-thirty. He can hear some crashing in the kitchen, and two voices chatting, but he can’t make out the words, merely the tone which is bright and laughing.

If he lies still and makes no sound, then he can probably grab an extra hour of sleep, which would be good except he’s not sure he wants to put the morning off any longer.

He trundles to the bathroom, splashes water on his face, sluices mouthwash around his teeth, then gurns in the mirror.  The mouthwash was a mistake, because now he’s in here, he can smell breakfast being prepared, a special birthday breakfast that will now taste of mint and antiseptic. So he washes his mouth again, this time with water, and then slides back into his bedroom so as not to spoil the surprise.

There’s no knock, not today. For one thing Daichi has his hands full carrying the tray of breakfast, and for another his companion is far too excited to think about the niceties of being asked to ‘come in’.

“DADDYYYY!” she squeals and bounds towards him, all pink pyjamas and light brown hair in blue ribbons.

“EMI!” he squeals back, and holds out his arms, ready to catch her as she leaps onto the bed.

“It’s Daddy’s birthday,” she announces proudly.

“It is.”

“And Emi’s half birthday,” she declares. “Daddy told me it was.”

“I said it _nearly_ was, Emi,” Daichi chides. “You’re _nearly_ four and a half.”

“That’s very old,” Suga says, tweaking one of the bows in her hair. “You’ll have to get a job soon.”

“Silly Daddy.” She wriggles on his lap, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Do I get presents?”

“Uhm...” Suga stares up at Daichi, a smile on his face and mouths. ’Does she?’ because a half birthday isn’t something he’s thought about before.

“You get _one_ , Emi-chan,” Daichi replies. He sets down the tray, then leans over and brushes his lips to Suga’s brow. “Happy Birthday.”

There’s not just food on the tray, but two gifts (quite well wrapped) and two envelopes.

“For you, missy!” Daichi says, handing Emi the smaller of the packages, and then gives Suga his. “Better present later. This is just a start, but ... uh ... I thought you’d like to open them together.”

Narrowing his eyes, because there’s something mischievously familiar about Daichi’s expression, Suga rips open the paper in time with Emi.

“OOOH! Cool!” she cries as she pulls out a pale blue t-shirt. “Now I can be just like Daddy.”

“Shrimps,” Suga states, deadpan as he examines his t-shirt, a carbon copy but larger. “That joke is tired, Sawamura.”

“But still funny,” he says and ducks to avoid the blow. “There’s these, as well.”

His heart leaps a little in his chest. One envelope (the white one) has Daichi’s handwriting, strong bold strokes, adorning it. But the other (pale pink) is fainter, a shaky script, not known, and yet he’s well aware who’s written his name.

“Emi wrote that,” she says, proudly, then her face crumples a little. “It _is_ Daddy’s name, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he reassures her, and runs his hand through her silken hair. She’s not as fair as he, unless the sun catches her at a certain slant, but it’s an unusual shade, different enough for people to comment (and usually compliment) on. “Emi is a very, very clever girl.”

“Daddy showed me,” she replies in her singsong voice. “And he helped with the rest.”

The envelopes don’t contain cards, but sheets of paper.

 _‘Still love you, Suga,’_ reads one.

 _‘Love you, Daddy’_ reads the other.

“Hey, no tears on your birthday,” Daichi chides, but he’s sniffing, and his eyes glimmer even as he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you. I'd also appreciate any comments on the ... um (as Daichi and Suga would put it) smut because I think that's the longest sex scene I've ever written. If you don't want to here, then drop me a line on tumblr. 
> 
> Thank youuuuuuuu


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